


tongue tied

by rime



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Party Games, boys in closets or something, extremely stupid shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/pseuds/rime
Summary: Not until blackmailing them into joining had Akechi realized the Phantom Thieves would take any excuse to party. Even one as flimsy as welcoming someone who had blackmailed them into joining.[akechi and joker in a closet. spoilers through end of november]





	tongue tied

Not until blackmailing them into joining had Akechi realized the Phantom Thieves would take any excuse to party. Even one as flimsy as welcoming someone who had blackmailed them into joining.

“Akechi-kun!”

Perhaps even more astonishing than their success and popularity -- given their unfathomable disorganization and _feline_ leadership, of all things -- was the incredible amount of alcohol they managed to consume. He doubted Sakura-san would have okayed the gathering if he’d known how the Thieves planned to lay waste to this attic. Only Yusuke had managed to keep out of trouble, sketching a withered houseplant with an intensity that permitted no interruption. He seemed not even to hear the yowling and giggling floating from the stairwell, where Haru was last seen tickling that strange cat with a ruthlessness worthy of the Okumura name. Much less innocent than Yusuke's sketching was the disappearance of Ann and Ryuji, but he wasn’t going to pursue _that_ thought any further.

Akechi himself was draped unceremoniously across a large pile of books vaguely resembling a nest. He supposed he’d tripped and fallen at some point, and after it had just seemed easier to enjoy the party from afar than try to reintegrate himself, and anyway he was tired and these books smelled nicely musty and homey and weren’t altogether uncomfortable. Many of these titles he could recognize from the Shibuya Kinokuniya shelves: he’d actually been interested in _Medjed Menace_ himself _._

The entire evening, full of the Thieves’ laughter and camaraderie, had felt decidedly unreal to Akechi. But it also felt… nice, he supposed. He didn’t have the strength to follow the thought further, especially because he wasn’t sure he’d like where it led. Much better to absently skim _Medjed_.

“Akechi- _kuuuun!_ ”

The voice of Makoto Niijima lanced through his reverie. He lamely attempted to drag himself into a position resembling dignity.

(One didn’t become a detective prince without acquiring a sort of general immunity to fangirls and charm -- but he had a soft spot for the Niijimas, and hearing the student council president say his name so cutely, he had to admit, wasn’t unpleasant.)

“You’re not drinking!” she chirped. “You have to playyy!”

Makoto wasn’t the only one who’d had too much to drink.

He didn’t need to feign distress, Akechi realized as color crept into his cheeks; he was genuinely flustered. He’d only even stopped drinking when it had become apparent Akira Kurusu had every intention of drinking him under the table, and he… didn’t really drink anyway (weren’t they all high school students?!), nor had he quite understood the strength of shochu until splitting the bottle with Akira-kun, and -- had he just thought Akira- _kun_ to himself? Had he said that out loud?!

 _Compose yourself._ _These people aren’t your friends._

“Haha… indeed, I’m not,” he said cheerfully, all the while wishing he could recede into the mountain of books.

He was immune to most charms, sure. But not _all_ charms, and Akira was living proof of that. Normally thinking about Joker left Akechi feeling vaguely irritated, as if stuck on a particularly tricky case for which no evidence was forthcoming. But with the hindsight gifted by lowered inhibition, he felt able to acknowledge a swirl of emotions he could never have conceded before tonight. It wasn’t only irritation, was it? Maybe there was something… maybe he was hopelessly fascinated with Akira. Maybe even _attracted._

He had never admitted this to himself before. Why not, though? It honestly felt freeing. Why shouldn’t he be enticed by this inscrutable boy and his opaque motivations, plainly juvenile yet borne out with such conviction?What could possibly drive him?

Ever since his vision had first begun to blur he’d been avoiding Akira pointedly, though hopefully not enough to attract suspicion. Not that Akira himself seemed to notice. All evening he had been the picture of charismatic nonchalance, lounging on his futon with blazer askew, shochu glass in one hand and ever-vibrating phone in the other. All evening Akechi had done his damnedest to ignore those pale fingers dashing off messages to countless mysterious contacts. No, he couldn’t ignore Akira enough.

“Leave him alone, Mako-chan!”

“But Akechi-kun _has_ to play,” Makoto insisted. “This party’s for him!”

 _I… play?_ “What am I playing?”

Ann laughed and clapped. “Ever heard of ‘seven minutes in heaven,' Akechi-kun? We’re spinning the bottle, and losers go in the closet!”  

Akechi had done a lot of play-acting in his time around the group, but the reaction this statement elicited was for once completely genuine. The Phantom Thieves played games as childish as this? How could he ever have considered them worthy adversaries?! He supposed this explained where Ann and Ryuji had gone. But who would he even want to share… _ah,_ he realized, as a certain stupidly charismatic answer sprung to mind with alarming speed. Yes. Someone did most certainly come to mind.

He’d always considered himself adept at accurately estimating a plan’s likelihood of success. So it was unfortunate that all of his detective experience was _screaming_ that this particular plan’s chances were literally zero. For starters, you had no control over your, ah, _closet partner._ And he wasn’t sure what he would want out of that situation, anyway. But an impish voice he wasn’t used to hearing seemed to have thought of everything already, and to have prepared counterarguments: _you’ll get lucky! you always do_ , and _you have nothing to lose anyway,_ and _you guys will totally_ \-- which was a thought too mischievous to follow to its logical conclusion without blushing overtly.

He couldn’t argue with his own calculations telling him _this can’t work_ , but they seemed… surprisingly flimsy when countered with a simple _what if it does?_ Nor was he sure if it was alcohol or daring that made those counterarguments so seductive. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to overthink this chance.

“Very well, then,” Akechi said, staring somewhere, anywhere but Akira. “I’m game.”

It was Ann’s turn to giggle furiously. “No, stupid! It’s already _landed_ on you and Akira-kun!”

 

* * *

 

This hadn’t been a good idea. That was the only thought he could muster reliably, and he clung to it hopelessly. _You’re so stupid._

The shock of Akira having been preselected for this stupid game wasn’t going to wear off any time soon. Why exactly had he thought that situation would constitute luck? Every cell in his body was on fire. But the left side of his body was perhaps _more_ on fire, because he and Akira didn’t really both fit in a closet this size, and so they were uncomfortably jammed together in a way that made it impossible for Akechi to regain any composure. It was too warm and too silent here, and only a thin sliver of light emanating from under the door let him make out outlines in the dark: rows of Shujin blazers and shirts, Akira’s profile, his glasses, lashes, slender fingers --

This hadn’t been a good idea. Everything about this was so uncharacteristically and monumentally _stupid._ How could he have put himself in this situation? Christ, the blazers smelled like him, too. He wouldn’t survive this much longer.

Compounding matters was the fact that his carefully manufactured persona was too charming for this silence to be natural. Maybe Sakamoto wouldn’t have noticed, but Akira surely would, and he really couldn’t have Akira suspecting him _now_. Maybe he could sag onto his shoulder and pass it off as drunkenness. Surely that would work. Or do more than just sag. No. Akechi’s thoughts were racing, and he _knew_ they were racing, but he was powerless to slow them or even pin down a single thought and see it through -- _pin down Akira --_

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d panicked like this. He hated it, his weakness. He hated _himself_. _You’re so stupid for wanting this. You’re nothing special. Not like him_.

 _Not stupid_ , he thought vehemently and to his horror, _out loud_ , startling the both of them.

“My apologies, Joker. I must have fallen asleep.” He smiled apologetically. “I’m not sure what I was dreaming about, but it must have been… unpleasant.”

“Don’t worry,” said the other boy softly.

A long pause ensued while Akechi searched for desperately for a topic, any topic that would lend the situation some semblance of normalcy. “Do you enjoy living at Leblanc?” he finally asked, with a sincerity he himself found surprising. “How does Sakura-san treat you?”

It was Akira’s turn to chuckle. “It’s great, actually. He’s much softer than he looks. Really loves his coffee, too.”

“Ah -- I’ve noticed you brewing it. It’s delicious.”

“Sojiro’s teaching me everything he knows.”

“Perhaps you could teach me sometime.” He found himself wishing he could be so forward without cover of darkness.

“I’d like that,” said Akira. Then, without pausing: “Maybe in exchange, you could teach me how you make your deductions?”

Akechi laughed out loud. “Do you really need my help?” _Don’t be humble, Akira. We both know you’ve been onto me for months._ “But I wouldn’t deny you, if you insisted.”

“Then it’s a deal. When will you come by? I’m not usually busy on Sundays.”

“Ah… have you been to Jinbocho recently? I was planning on stopping by tomorrow.”

“The used bookstore district? Looking for something to read?”

…

Their conversation was nowhere as stilted as he’d feared. Rather it flowed warmly between them, the way it might between two old friends, and he found it hard to remember why he’d been so nervous. For he’d never been nervous running into Akira before, by Shujin or Leblanc -- he’d actually felt quite at ease in those situations. Tonight he could blame extenuating circumstances: alcohol, proximity, more alcohol and those wretched feelings he couldn’t even try to rationalize. All he knew was that he wanted something more than a pleasant chat. Maybe to reach out and thread his fingers through that unruly hair. But there was no way Akira wanted any part of that.

“Akechi?”

\-- and they’d fallen quiet again, he’d been too sidetracked by his own jumbled thoughts to keep the conversation going.

_I’m so stupid._

“Tell me, Joker,” he said abruptly, voice bright: “what do you think of me?”

He knew as soon as he’d said it that he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t thought it possible for such an oppressive silence to _thicken_. But surely some well-placed charm could salvage the situation. He was, after all, the Detective Prince.

_Breathe._

“Haha… I’m sorry to have asked something like that,” he said easily, radiating practiced charm. _Breathe. You’ve got this._ “It was quite forward --”

“What do I think?”

He barely recognized the whisper.

It was Akira’s voice, but distorted somehow, transformed into something almost menacing. _I’ve provoked him,_ Akechi realized, slightly alarmed but also _thrilled._ The way Akira was looking at him now was nothing short of exhilarating; it wasn’t reserved, subdued Kurusu-kun anymore but the fiery gaze he’d seen in the Metaverse, behind Joker’s mask. And now he was leaning in, closer, close enough to make Akechi’s head spin with thoughts like _if he moves any closer he’ll kiss me_ and _maybe this wasn’t such a mistake after all_ \--

“I think,” Akira breathed, softly enough to _barely_ brush his lips and yet somehow send the room spinning, “you should ask after everyone else leaves.”  

Akechi hardly dared breathe, let alone move. But seized by some inexplicable, devilish impulse, he leaned in until their lips were touching completely. _This ought to do the trick._

“What if I’d like to know now?”  

 

* * *

 

“Akechi-kun?”

“Ehhh?! He just suddenly collapsed?”

“Calm down, Ryuji!!”

“Does he need a ride?”

“He doesn’t feel well. Let’s leave him here for now.”

“He would make a fine subject for a painting in this condition. I shall title it… _Agony and Ecstasy.”_

“He won’t want you to paint him like this, you moron!!”

“He looks feverish...”

“Man, Akechi’s a total lightweight! What the hell?!”

“Feel better, Akechi-kun! I can bring you vegetables from my garden!”

 

* * *

 

No sooner had the last echoes of footsteps receded from Leblanc than did the leader of the Phantom Thieves unceremoniously drag the ace detective from his closet and fling him onto his bed.

“Nice plan,” said Akira, looking down at him. “As expected from _Crow._ ”

“As if you couldn’t have come up with it,” Akechi retorted weakly, rubbing his eyes.  

“Real _detective prince_ stuff.”

“You’re drunk.”

“You like me,” he replied, eyes bright.

Akechi’s breath caught in his throat as the younger boy shoved him down and pinned him to the bedframe, fixing him with a stare of unmistakable intent.

“You come to Leblanc too often,” he said slowly, lingering upon each syllable with relish, “for it to just be for the coffee _._ You’ve been avoiding me since you joined the Phantom Thieves. You’d never ordinarily play a game like this: you only played tonight to get closer to me. So how about it, _detective prince_? Am I onto you?”

Akira leaned in closer still, close enough for everything else to fall away. And he really _was_ drunk, Akechi realized now, he could smell the alcohol on his breath -- but he wasn’t wrong about him either. He hadn’t known a stare could simultaneously pierce and disarm like this. Not for the first time he wondered just how much it saw, if it could see through him at his most calculating. It certainly cut through him now.

_What does Akira see? Does he see Shido?_

_Can he see_ me?

 _God he’s so beautiful,_ he thought, and made the mistake of meeting his eyes for a fraction of a second and searching them earnestly, desperately for some sort of answer. Then he remembered himself and began to laugh. Of course Goro Akechi knew when a suspect was cornered. It just wasn’t usually him.

“Maybe,” he said helplessly.

The kiss Akira pressed to his lips in response was more tender than any he’d dared to imagine: slow and lingering, a kiss that deepened as Akira’s tongue traced his own very deliberately, with gentle finesse. It was all he could do to stifle a moan as they parted lips. There -- wasn’t any way this was really happening, was it? Was it a dream, or a kind hallucination? Maybe he really _was_ sick.

“Joker,” he breathed, scrabbling at the standard-issue turtleneck of his rival, friend, _something’s_ school uniform with ineffectual gloved fingers. Akira looked at him with something like mirth dancing in his eyes as he carefully removed his blazer and tossed it on his desk.

“You won’t take off your gloves for this?” he murmured. “I’m almost impressed.”

“Tell me I’m special, Joker,” Akechi whispered, not caring what he said, surrendering his composure completely as the other boy pinned his wrists and began to swiftly unbutton his jacket.  “That… that I’m your -- equal --”

Akira laughed in disbelief. “My equal? You’re _peerless,_ Akechi, you’re one of a kind.”

_One… of a kind…?_

It was like a dam had burst. All at once there was a hand deftly cradling the back of his neck and dragging him forwards, crushing him into a second kiss, hot and velvet and full of dizzying intensity. He forgot to breathe as Akira kissed him again and again, showering his neck and jaw and everywhere in hot breath and teeth and attention.

_I’m..._

If he were more control of himself he might have felt embarrassed to let himself be seen like this. But he was too far gone to care, and all bets were off with Joker, anyway. Somehow Akira had lost his belt, and his own tie had disappeared, and they had both mysteriously managed to shed most of their clothes.

 _Maybe I should be sick more often,_ he thought before he lost himself in a tangle of limbs and touch and stopped thinking about, well, anything at all.

 

* * *

 

He had half a mind to believe he’d just imagined the whole thing: the festivities and drinks, the stupid party game, the… _conversation_ in the closet. An imagining that made his cheeks burn, yes, but imagined nevertheless.

… a vision of Akira’s face in the dark swam into view again and he flushed crimson; it was hard to believe he could’ve imagined _that_ in such detail. That and the fact that they were draped around each other under a thin sheet, Akira’s arm gently dangling across his body and imparting a wholly unfamiliar feeling of peace. So maybe it had been real.  

He knew in the morning this would not have happened. Of course he fully planned to slip away at the crack of dawn so as to not face any awkward questions from Sakura-san -- or the other Thieves, god forbid. He wasn’t sure even he could retain his composure in such a situation. Really it would be safest to just get up and leave right now. And yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to move.

“I want to stay,” he murmured sleepily to no one in particular, burying his face in Akira’s pillow with a rueful sigh. _Just a little longer._ Akira’s fingers were idly tracing through his hair, and if he lay very still it was easy to imagine this was something, someone, he had to go back to. That this was more than what it was, or that it somehow mattered.

_Let me pretend._

He pressed himself into Akira’s side and fell into a deep sleep, sound and untroubled, and never saw the other boy gently reach over to replace his phone on the nightstand.

 

* * *

 

 _akira  
_ it’s done yo

 _futaba  
_ It's on his phone?

 _futaba  
_...You got his phone??? 0_0

 _futaba  
_ But how?

 _akira  
_ that's a secret

 _futaba  
_ >:O

 _akira  
_ phantom thieves don't kiss and tell

 _futaba  
_ >:OOO

 _futaba  
_ >:OOOOOO

 _futaba  
_ Akira! You didn't!

 _futaba  
_ Hey, Akira! Talk to meeee!

 _akira  
_ ;)

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! and please be gentle i've never posted anything here before ;_; 
> 
> feel free to listen to grouplove while reading i guess


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